


Tales from the Barrows

by Limanya



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limanya/pseuds/Limanya
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles focusing on the (un-)lives of the Barrows Brothers. Mostly set post-Endgame and post-Kindred Spirits.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Tales from the Barrows

The first morning, it started like this:

...no, not _quite._ The truth was, it was very difficult to tell whether it was morning or not. There hung a perpetual gloom over Morytania, even now; and though it was sometimes lighter and sometimes darker outside, none of the brothers had quite gotten a grasp on any of it just yet.

It would come, with time, and things would eventually feel normal again. But for now, 'morning' was simply whenever they woke up — even if it was still rather dark outside.

Verac awoke. Outside, there was the ever-familiar (and he suspected _eternal_ ) crackling of the torches, now joined by a new sound. With no particular haste, he pushed aside the lid of what, morbidly enough, had to pass for a bed around here.

There, in the little hallway connecting their tombs, sat Akrisae, kneeling. He didn’t make any particular efforts to show himself: he was facing the wall, and his hood, like always, obscured most of his face.

Verac approached him. Now, he could make out more: between Akrisae and the crypt wall sat a curved piece of hollow-tree bark, with a Saradomin star crudely carved into it. The bark was flanked by dripping candles, and watching over all of it was Akrisae, softly saying prayers.

“Morning,” Verac said. Akrisae smiled at him, and nodded in acknowledgement, but did not stop his praying. Some of these prayers were familiar to Verac, or vaguely so; others, he’d never heard of before.

He said a few prayers of his own (quietly, so that no one but himself knew what he was saying) and left Akrisae to it.

\---

The second day, the crypt was quiet when Verac awoke. Akrisae was kneeling in the same spot, but he did so without saying a word. Upon hearing his cryptmate approach, he turned and smiled in greeting.

“I thought you might like to join me,” he said.

“Thank you,” Verac responded. In a way, he supposed Akrisae was right: having company was nice, and after so long it was almost certainly one of the things he needed the most.

But then there was the _tension._

It was almost unbearable. Of course it was: could he expect anything else? But then, refusing would be just as bad. People knew what he fought for, not who or what he prayed to. If that hadn’t been the case, the world might’ve been a little easier. Then again, a _lot_ of things would’ve been easier if they hadn’t happened to be the case — and, Verac feared, he suffered from an above-average amount of ‘things that were the case’.

It was even more dreadful to think of his name again, but Verac couldn’t deny it either: Sliske really _did_ have a sick sense of humor. 

“Are you alright?” came a voice from beside him. It was more than enough to snap him back out of his worries, and enough to land him in those worries again. And, if nothing else, it was enough for Verac to realize he’d fallen silent.

“Yeah, sorry,” he responded. “Just… thinking.”

“I’m here if you need to talk.”

 _Thanks,_ Verac wanted to say. _That’d be a lot more welcome if you hadn’t been the problem._

\---

The third day was much the same, as was the fourth. They spent their mornings (or what they perceived— no, _assumed_ as such) in praise of Saradomin, whether genuine or feigned. To Akrisae, it was a good way to feel more at ease; for Verac, it did the opposite.

By the fifth day, Verac had dared to try one of his old tricks again: saying what prayers he knew out loud, while inwardly refocusing these words towards what he really meant. It was a worthy attempt, but he was out of practice and stumbled over the words. Akrisae, blessed and accursed as he might be at once, pointed out that it was only natural to struggle after such a long time. 

Verac only nodded and said nothing else, not wanting to accidentally dig himself in deeper. At the same time, some part of his mind was hoping that he’d hurry up and figure it out already.

It would certainly save him some trouble.

\---

 _And what would happen,_ Verac wondered after a week of repeating this torturous process, _if I just told him?_

His thoughts became uneasy. _I could ‘accidentally’ let something slip. I could — I could talk to my brothers, I could have him overhear something, I could…_

_…what was that?_

“Verac?” — there came Akrisae’s voice again, growing more familiar by the day. He had a worried look on his face (or what was visible of it), as if to ask _‘you heard that too, didn’t you, and I’m not just going mad?’_ Funny that it was exactly what Verac was about to ask.

“Mhm. I’ll go see what’s up.”

It had sounded something like wood breaking, and in a place like this where most trees had long died and any wooden manmade (or, sometimes, vyremade) objects were hanging on by a single, rotted thread, it was little surpise to hear such a sound.

Well, no. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if people actually _came_ here. Surely the adventurers only came here to fight, not to gather their firewood?

Climbing out of his mound, Verac soon saw that that wasn’t quite the case, either. Whoever did this certainly didn’t _look_ the part of an adventurer. And whatever... _this_ was, he was sure that it wasn’t standard behavior for those types either.

She was a young woman, dressed in tatty clothing. From… _wherever_ she had come, she had made her way to the hut nearest to their home’s entrance, but she had stumbled over one of the old fences and landed right in the cart that stood on its other side. No, she’d landed right _through_ it.

Akrisae had followed him, and Karil — ever-alert as he was — was just as quickly on the scene. The woman didn’t seem to be too injured, but…

“…She isn’t _dead,_ is she?”

Verac frowned, staring at the woman in the cart. She wasn’t moving. But then there were no screams, nor was there any blood.

“I’d guess ‘drunk’,” he added, “if she wasn’t… well.”

He stepped over the half-broken fence, then put one of his arms under her. “Karil, help me out?”

“Right,” Karil said, helping Verac to lift the woman out of the broken cart. As they turned her over, it became apparent what _‘well’_ was referring to: she looked a little more than uncomfortably similar to the three wights.

“She’s so pale,” Akrisae said, glancing at his own hands for comparison. It wasn’t _quite_ as bad, but near enough to be cause for concern. “But why?”

“Alive, though,” Karil responded, right in time for them to notice the woman stir. 

Slowly, she opened her eyes, but they remained tired and unfocused. A soft “mmhrhgh…” was all she greeted them with. Verac and Akrisae both had taken Karil’s word for it, but it was hard to deny that it was becoming less believable by the second. Furthermore, in those quiet gaps where no one was sure what to say or do, the seconds felt especially fast.

“Hrrgeh. Urrhhgh… p’nngh.”

“…So what now?” Holding the woman up was getting tiring for Verac. Boring, at least. There had to be _something_ they could do, right? “She’s looks like a zombie, acts like one. But she isn’t. That’s what we’re getting at?”

“I think so, yes.” Karil leaned over and first took the woman’s weight on his own shoulders, then gently set her down on the still-intact edge of the cart, careful not to break it any further. “Verac, Akrisae. If I look after her, will you go see where she came from?”

“Over the bridge, then?” Verac mentally sighed. _Well, yeah, of course over the bridge. That’s where there’s people._ “Alright, then. Akrisae, let’s go.”

\---

 _Over the bridge._ Sure _sounded_ simple enough, if not for the fact that they hadn’t had much of a chance to go outside yet. Even the idea that they could now go wherever they pleased, whenever they pleased, sounded only like a dream.

But like a dream, it felt not only strange, but also _good._

“They’re… no. What in Saradomin’s…” Akrisae’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of the first settlement. It was something in between a village and a ruin: most of the houses looked barely liveable, and _that_ was coming from two people who lived in what essentially were just fancy graves.

And that wasn’t to mention the _people_. There was no doubt anymore as to where the woman had come from: this place was swarming with people all alike, wandering aimlessly and looking no more alive than dead.

“So what’s up with them, then? Is it necromancy?” Verac moved slowly; regardless, none of the people seemed to take any real notice of him.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Akrisae said, hand cautiously placed on his mace. “Not if they’re alive, at least. Say — there is another town nearby. We can ask around there.”

“Not like _this_ we can’t. Best to look around here, first. See if you find anyone, uh, normal. And… don’t scare the— aaARGH! _What the—!?_ ” Verac jumped back, suddenly standing face-to-face with a ghostly apparition. In an instant, it became clear that there was more here than just the strange villagers: pools of darkness covered the ground, shifting and moving around.

This one, brave as it was, had risen. It was clawing at the wight, though to little effect; once the initial shock had worn off, Verac’s flail tore through it easily. Most of the creature then vanished, leaving behind only its ghastly remains.

“Verac, what was that?! Are you alright?”

“A ghost? I think?” Verac knelt down, picking up one of the bones. It had a strange sheen to it, like it wasn’t entirely physically there, and it felt unpleasant to hold. For a brief moment, Verac felt the chill of the cool, murky swamp air once again.

Akrisae, too, lowered himself down to the remains of whatever the ghost-like creature had been; preparing himself to at least bless them, but suddenly stopping.

“Something isn’t right about this.”

“You tell me.”

“No, I mean that there’s a sort of _power_ hanging over these remains. Something…” Akrisae slightly waved around with his right hand, looking for the right words to describe _why_ these remains — and the entire town, for that matter — made him feel so horribly uneasy.

“So the usual rites won’t cut it, you mean.”

Akrisae wasn’t sure if it was right to smile now, but at least a small hint of one came through. “That too. Let’s look further for now, though I’d also like to return here as soon as possible.”

The two left the fallen shade’s remains where they had landed, then continued their search. It was, for the most part, a whole lot of nothing: more of these strange ghosts, more living people acting as though they were dead. Until...

“Akrisae! Come over here, I’ve found something!”

In one of the houses, there laid a diary on a table; the relevant passage still marked. Verac stepped aside to allow Akrisae a look: he had little trust in himself when it came to these matters. Less than he would have in someone like Akrisae, at least.

“This might be what we were looking for,” Akrisae half-mumbled, reading closely. “No, I’m sure it is. ‘Affliction’ means it’s probably an illness… Verac,” he continued, not taking his eyes off the text, “can we get tarromin here?”

“Tarromin? Probably; what for?”

“A ‘solution’ — see here?” Akrisae pointed at one particular section. “Ashes and tarromin. It’s worth giving a try.”

\---

“And you’re _sure,_ absolutely _sure_ this is going to work,” Verac said, holding up a bowl of ashes (kindly provided by Ahrim, who gladly put one of the dead trees out of its misery. It already had been, but there was no accounting for undeath — especially not _here_ ). “What will they do, cough up their sickness?”

“No, I’m not,” said Akrisae, carefully crushing the tarromin leaves, “and at least that would be _a_ result.”

Verac laughed, leaning against the crypt wall. At least it was safer here, without any chance of having their hard work ruined by the strange things that dwelt in the ruined village. Yet his gaze kept falling back on the little shrine, and the doubts made their way back into his mind. _Can I keep this up? …Should I keep this up?_

“You’re pretty good with those plants,” Verac said, hoping this was adequate to keep his mind focused on other things. “Have you done it before?”

Just like in the village, Akrisae did not turn to look, but remained focused entirely on his work. Carefully, he dropped some pieces of crushed tarromin in a vial of water. “Sometimes,” he then said, “though not much of potion-making. That’s more druidic territory, I believe.”

Akrisae shook the vial briefly; then, he dropped some ashes inside. “I’ve used them for incense, though. We had a patch of marrentill, back at the castle…” For a moment, Akrisae stopped, then turned around to look at Verac. “But I knew a druid,” he continued. “Worked with him.”

A small smile appeared on Akrisae’s face, though it was a curiously somber one. “Of course, I doubted whether it was really a good idea. But it was meant to be an alliance, and one of my superiors insisted I do it. So I did.”

Verac was quiet, though he tried to pass it off as attentive listening. In truth, his attempt at a distraction was backfiring, and it was backfiring hard. _Nothing to do,_ he thought, _but to keep listening._

“And how’d it go?” he asked.

Akrisae laughed. “Much better than expected, and much worse too. It wasn’t on them, though. There were three of us — a Temple Knight, a Guardian of Armadyl and a druid of the Crux Eqal.”

“…walked into a bar? Or what?”

“That would have been interesting,” Akrisae said, half-laughing as he shook the vial again to mix in the ashes. “I had my doubts and my reservations. Far more of them than I’d like to admit. But in the end, we worked together well. Or so I’d like to believe.” Then he turned back, facing his improvised work station. “They were good people.”

Akrisae sighed, and though he himself was hardly aware of it, the name ‘Idria’ in particular hung on his lips like a wound waiting to open again. Yet like most thoughts whose owners are unaware of them, it soon became nothing more than a lingering feeling. Something to be remembered, eventually but not now.

Finally, Akrisae stood up, leaving the ingredients and tools where they were for now, and regarded the vial in the flickering torchlight. The final mixture had taken on a blue-greenish color, although the addition of the ashes made it look cloudy and frankly, horribly unappetizing. If anything, it was at least a comfort that those suffering the affliction seemed so unaware that they most likely wouldn’t care.

“Karil said he brought her inside the hut,” Verac said, already setting a foot on the stairs. “Best to see if it works as soon as possible.”

\---

“You know,” Akrisae said as he gently brought the vial to the woman’s lips, “the druids know how to make an advanced form of truth serum? I never quite figured out the specifics of that potion, but…” Akrisae trailed off, focusing on the afflicted woman again.

The woman remained remarkably calm, even as she swallowed the foul liquid. There was no telling whether it’d work, or how fast. All there was to do was wait.

“But what?”

“I’m sorry,” Akrisae responded, a vaguely melancholy expression on his mostly-hidden face. It was for the better, perhaps. At least it felt like that now. “I was starting to get lost in my thoughts.”

Another pause, and still no sign of change in the woman.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Verac said, waving his hand roughly in the direction of the eastern group of mounds. “Hardly seen them ever since… y’know. Thinking about the future.”

“And the past.”  
“For sure. Trust me, I’ve been thinking too.” Verac laughed, in part due to the implication: _“even if I don’t show it much.”_ But it was true. He wasn’t particularly prone to those pensive moods, and even then, he wasn’t fond of sitting around moping either.

…no, that was a half-truth. It had never been his preferred course of action. But it happened, even if he himself didn’t see it much. He _knew_ it happened.

“I suppose that time,” Akrisae then said, continuing his little story with no warning, “was the first time I realized it was not right to judge others so soon. It wasn’t the last, of course—”

“—It happens, you know. But look! I think the potion’s—”

“—but it was good for me to learn regardless. A shame that it happened so… _late._ ”

“Believe me, you’ll have plenty of time to figure that stuff out. Akrisae, please, what do we do about _her?!_ ”

The woman was sitting up, her gaze going back and forth between the two wights and her mind attempting to process _far_ too many things at once. Perhaps this hadn’t been entirely the best way to go about curing her, but it was too late already. After looking to the side for a few moments, Verac then turned to leave the hut.

“…you’re probably better at this than me. I’ll wait outside.”

Akrisae, for a moment, considered protesting; but what would he say? It probably _was_ better not to overwhelm her. That, and… was he really good at whatever Verac had meant by ‘this’? He had no way of knowing, but the thought of it was nice.

Verac stood outside the hut, finding his gaze and mind both wandering. The cart had already been fixed — was that Torag’s doing? Could be. How late was it? The sky was dark, but then again the sky was always dark. It was just a matter of more or less dark. If he had do guess, he’d say afternoon.

The air felt calm.

 _Should I say it?_ Verac felt tense. It was strange, and unfamiliar. _Is it worth it? Will it work? Will I feel better?_

_Am I proving that snake right?_

_Damn you. Damn you!_

He sunk down, now no longer standing leaning against the hut but sitting in from of it. His head fell forward to his knees, the weight of his helmet making its presence felt for the first time in — _how long had it been?_

_‘It wasn’t the last,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t the last.’_

And what about the alternatives? Were they any better? Were they _reasonable?_ Could he keep lying for however long he had to; would that make him feel better? _Sure it would,_ Verac thought, _it worked back then too._

_And where did it get you?_

He felt sick.

“Verac?” There he was again. Akrisae, so good and so pious and _unknowing._

“Yeah? You need me?”

“Yes, well—”

“Coming. One second,” Verac said, pushing his helmet back up straight and making his way back into the hut again. The woman was sitting there, staring at the ground; at the same time, Verac felt relieved to see that this was the normal kind of staring at the ground. Not the mindless, affliction-stricken kind. _And certainly not whatever it was I just did,_ Verac added. _Thankfully._

“I explained the situation,” Akrisae then said, turning to Verac. “Our side of it, at least. And she explained hers. She’s from the village, Mort’ton, and she recognized the serum right away. It is the cure, but only a temporary one.”

“So she’ll fall ill again? Become like everyone else again?”

The woman said nothing.

Akrisae looked at her, then back to Verac. “She told me there might be a better cure. If we prepare more of this one, we could ask around in the village.”

“Makes sense. Rumors have to start _somewhere._ ”

“I’ll give her the rest of this vial to take home,” Akrisae then said. “The recipe is simple enough. We can make more.”

Later, after the woman had been brought back to Mort’ton with a promise of protection, night had fallen over Morytania. This time, they were at least certain it was night; though in the crypts, beneath the cloak of soil, nothing had changed.

Or had it? The atmosphere still felt unpleasantly tense to Verac, as if he was close to becoming a stranger in his own home (if, at least, a tomb could be called that). Akrisae felt nothing of the sort. 

Akrisae was setting away the tools he’d used earlier, so that he could easily retrieve them again tomorrow. Unfurnished as the room still was, ‘setting away’ amounted to little more than ‘arranging nicely in a different corner’. But it was a start.

“We did well today, Verac,” he then said. “You did well.”

“Thank you,” Verac said, smiling just a little. “So did you.”

Hearing that was a slight comfort, but no more than slight. _So I’ve got a friendship here,_ he thought. _And I might just destroy it all._

_But the others — they were fine, weren’t they? Are they?_

_…no, we’re family, so that doesn’t count. Can I do this? Should I do this? I…_

“Goodnight,” Akrisae then said. “I’m off to bed.”

The rough scraping of stone on stone followed as the coffin’s lid opened and closed again. Then, there was nothing.

Nothing but Verac, alone with his thoughts. And still, eternally, the torches burning.

\---  
The next morning (or what was guessed to be morning, for neither of them had left the crypts yet), Verac was awake and alone. Not a sound had come from the other tomb yet: right now, the place was his alone.

Slowly, he walked to the hallway where Akrisae’s little shrine still stood. _What would it be like?_

He lowered himself closer to the ground and, with a light touch, drew the mark of Zamorak there. Then, after a moment of staring at the sign, imperfect as it was, he wiped it away again.

 _It would be nice,_ he thought. 

Eventually, the silence was broken as Akrisae awoke. Verac wished him a good morning, then took a few deep breaths: motions meant more to calm him down than for anything else.

Akrisae sat down next to him. The world felt slow.

It felt too slow. It felt too _heavy._

History had decided his place long ago. All of this was just an afterthought. Something else, tacked on by a forgetful author. An extra story, improvised for someone who had decided that staying dead was far too difficult.

And now, it was time to see what would happen next.

Akrisae returned the wishes of a good morning, then slowly and with a steady hand lit both the candles on fire. _Now or never,_ Verac thought. _Now or never._

_…if ‘never’ exists at all._

“Akrisae.”

“Yes?”

“I need… I need to ask you something.”

“Of course; what is it?”

Verac fell silent. It now felt as it the world was spinning around him, as if it was falling away beneath him, as if it was swallowing him whole. Did the torches always burn this _loud?_

“Is it alright if… if I don’t pray to Saradomin?”

He knew what he really wanted to say, yet the word — the _name_ — felt dirty. He wanted to admit it. He wanted to say it, just like that, and be done with it.

He wondered why it couldn’t just be _easy._

“You mean you’d like to skip—”

“…No. I mean I… I…”

_Deep breaths. Heavy breaths. Pointless breaths, but at least they keep you focused._

“…Akrisae. I would like to pray to Zamorak.”

There had been no reaction. In that moment, neither Verac not Akrisae was sure how much time had passed. All there was, was an intense silence, the kind that would claw at you to be noticed but not broken. That was all.

Because neither knew how much time had _really_ passed, the following events were not entirely clear to either of them. Verac turned and fled the crypt, but was it for lack of an answer or before an answer could even be reasonably given?

Did the distinction _matter?_

Regardless of whether time passed slowly or quickly, though, it was certain that at least several hours had passed before the two saw each other again, Akrisae finding Verac at the banks of the swamp near the Mort’ton bridge.

It was quiet here.

“Verac,” Akrisae said, sitting down next to him. “Are you alright?”

“…Don’t know.”

He looked at Akrisae for a moment. “What’s it look like?”

Akrisae sighed, squeezing his one hand tightly with the other. “Sorry.”

In Mort’ton, the afflicted still wandered without a purpose. Akrisae wondered if the woman from yesterday had taken the rest of the potion, and if so, if she was doing all right. No; even if she hadn’t taken it, even if she was walking amongst them again, he hoped that she was as safe as she could be.

“Verac… do your brothers know?”

“…Mhm.” He paused, then rested his head on his hand. “Since Linza joined us. They all know. Not talked much about it.”

Akrisae looked at Verac, his expression showing a hint of concern. _Since Linza… was that the trials?_ He had heard of it in passing from the others. Of course, he hadn’t heard a lot — but he’d heard enough to grasp the cruel implications.

“Since whe—”

“…Akrisae?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you doing this?” In an instant, it was as if all the frustration in his voice, all that had been lying in wait and masking itself with other feelings, other emotions, with anything _but_ itself, was freed. A crack here, a stumble there.

“You’re supposed to _hate_ me!”

Akrisae looked down, gripping the hem of his hood with one hand but moving it neither up nor down. “I know.”

“Then why are you doing this?!”

“I’m not sure,” Akrisae said. “Do you want me to hate you?”

“No. But you _should._ ”

Akrisae looked at Verac, and though he wasn’t sure whether Verac couldn’t see him right now, it didn’t matter. It was enough, for now. 

“I can’t.”

Their gazes now met. “Why not? …Because you were taught to love me. To love us. Is that why?”

Akrisae looked out over the swamp again. “Maybe,” he said. “But I hope not.”

He smiled, though the hood hid most of it. “And aren’t _you_ supposed to hate me too?”

“I _do!_ ”

“Why?”

“…I didn’t want you to hate me. I was expecting it. I just… didn’t want it.”

“I won’t.”

“…Thank you, if you mean it. And… I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Akrisae said, standing up and offering a hand to Verac. But Verac remained on the ground; instead, he took his helmet off and set it down next to him.

“Please,” he said to Akrisae. “Stay here a bit longer.”

But Mort’ton loomed. “We have a lot of work to do, Verac.”

“I know. But…”

The air felt calm — and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, it did not feel heavy.

“It’s work that I’d rather do with a friend.”

And so, Akrisae sat down once more. Time felt slow again, but now, it was for the best that it did. Verac closed his eyes, and wondered: _is this how freedom feels?_

_He will learn. I will learn. It will get better. It’s already better._

_This might really be freedom. I hope it is._

_It’s peaceful._

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to Chaos_Elemental for helping me out with this!


End file.
